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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290504">We Were Angels Once</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliarose/pseuds/opheliarose'>opheliarose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Marriage Proposal, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, trigger warning for brief mention of attempted suicide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:02:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliarose/pseuds/opheliarose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"They say we are asleep until we fall in love."</p><p>Pierre and Natasha are free now, and ready to wake up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pyotr "Pierre" Kirillovich Bezukhov/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. How Long Have I Been Sleeping?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story picks up at the very end of War and Peace before the two epilogues. Tolstoy is sorely lacking in romantic moments so I decided to write my own.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Spring 1813</strong>
</p><p>Natasha was standing in the middle of the drawing room with a rosy but serene countenance. Across from her sat Princess Marya Bolkonskaya, her soon-to-be-sister-in-law who had recently come into her great fortune following the unfortunate deaths of her father and brother, the Princes Bolkonsky. She was oft considered a cloister mouse by those acquainted with her, plain and quiet and squeaking. Yet Marya Bolkonskaya had revealed that the heart of a lioness beat beneath her drab, gray-clad breast. How else could Nicky have grown to love her so much so quickly? Within weeks of their meeting he had offered her his hand and his love and within two months they would be wed.</p><p>Natasha felt a dull pang at the thought of Nicky and Marya’s impending nuptials. On the one hand, she was delighted. She would have an older sister to confide in who would bring Nikolai the happiness he deserved. Of course, her being one of the wealthiest women in all of Russia was a blessing that did not escape her notice. Natahsa and Nikolai had brought ruin to the family with their folly and the pious Marya would restore it single handedly.</p><p>And then there was Sonya. Dear Sonya. Destined to be an old spinster, just like her, for neither had a dowry to offer or a man who would have her.</p><p>Of course she had no one to blame but herself for her fate. The ghosts of Andrei and Anatole were still fresh in her mind. How they had suffered in their final days! She thought of handsome Anatole, his golden head bloodied and contorted in pain, one-legged and lame, bleeding out in the middle of a field somewhere. And in his final moments Andrei had been there, and he had held Anatole’s hand. He had forgiven him, as he had forgiven her before the light left his clear eyes forever.</p><p>Natasha restrained a choked sob at the memory. Their gilded ballroom of once upon a time replaced with a dilapidated shack, his regal white uniform traded for crimson bandages. She would remember him as both, for he was at once the severe, handsome prince she had fallen in love with and the broken, renewed soldier she had nursed. She was no longer a child, but he was in a way in those final days. Fresh and reborn and frightened as his eyes glimmered in the candlelight, the stern lines on his brow smooth as the tension in his body extinguished.</p><p><em>And now there’s no one for me</em>. A selfish thought to be sure, but she had always dwelled in the world inside herself. And now he was gone, along with Papa, Petya...<em>Pierre</em>.</p><p>There had been no word of him in months. The last anyone had heard he had been taken prisoner by the French. Her breathing quickened and her hands shook at the thought of him in a jail cell, marching in the frigid winter, or worse….</p><p>She thought of the last time she’d seen him. His childlike eyes half-crazed as he’d declared his intention to kill Napoleon. He had spoken with such determination, such assurance, that she knew he had been in earnest. Her dear fool! And the way he’d looked at her, kissed her bare hand as if bidding her a final <em>adieu</em>.</p><p>But he was not himself then. Their real last meeting had been...rather different.</p><p>“If you only knew how much I -” he’d begun. He had never finished his sentence, but there was no need to. His eyes declared more love than any song or speech. Those words had been forbidden by the institution of his marriage and the strength of his character. And also perhaps by fear. Fear that she would reject him, ridicule him, reproach him.</p><p>Had he spoken those words, would she have been able to answer? How would she have answered? How she had implored him to say it! With no thought of propriety or honor, she had implored him to tell her what his eyes seemed to sing.The way his soft, sad gaze had born into hers, the way he had spoken low in his tender voice and leaned down as though to whisper a secret or to….</p><p>And then he’d kissed her hand. Not with the practiced chivalry of a gentleman, but with the anguished, frantic passion of a lover. Her heart still skipped a beat to think of it. Yet even now she could not give a name to those feelings he aroused in her. Had she wanted him to kiss her lips instead? She was sure she had. His thin lips, slightly parted, and his slate blue eyes had drawn her in that breathless moment as though there was nothing between them. When she'd woken from her trance he was gone, only to be replaced by a madman in beggar’s clothes.</p><p>Natasha was suddenly jolted from her thoughts by Marya’s voice. She was talking to a man. He had a deep, pleasant voice, soft yet strong. He almost reminded her of…</p><p>“Dear Pierre! We were so worried! Oh to think we might have lost you!” In a lapse of propriety, Marya flung her arms around the count’s neck, though the crown of her head barely reached his shoulder.</p><p>“I had to call and see you! Congratulations are in order!” declared he with a genuine smile that she had not seen the likes of in many moons. “Nikolai is the dearest fellow, as I’m sure you know, and he is very lucky to have found you. I wish you every happiness. Forgive me for my rudeness, princess. I’ve been a terrible, neglectful friend these past weeks.”</p><p>“Oh please don’t embarrass me!” replied Marya, her cheeks flushed. “And think nothing of it, my friend. You’ve been in recovery after a very trying ordeal. It is so good to know that you were saved! I am happy to see you well.”</p><p>“Dear princess!” he exclaimed, embracing her once more. “I was devastated to learn of Andrei. I wish...what I would have given to be there for him. For all of you. Can you imagine I knew nothing of him surviving the battle?”</p><p>They pulled apart and were still for a moment. In the silence, Natasha noticed the pumping of her heart, eager to escape its cage and soar. He was alive! He was here! She wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around his soft, strong frame, yet she remained rooted to the spot, her feet lead in her slippers.</p><p>Pierre’s head remained bowed as he allowed a moment’s mourning to pass between him and the princess.</p><p>“So you were able to see him before he died?” he asked.</p><p>“Yes,” Marya smiled wistfully. “And he often spoke of you, and always very fondly. Didn’t he?”</p><p>The last question was addressed to Natasha, who sat shrouded in the shadows. Pierre glanced in her direction, searching around the room until his gaze fell on her silhouette. He seemed to look right through her, and nodded with the ghost of a smile before turning back to Marya.</p><p>Natasha felt her heart flutter and sink like a falling feather. Was she so changed? She knew she was not the same girl as he had last seen a year ago, but surely he recognized her? Could he be ignoring her out of shame? Out of spite? A pang of panic filled her as it occurred to her the trauma of his imprisonment may be more severe than it first appeared.</p><p>“So you found him with the Rostovs?” asked Pierre.</p><p>Marya gave a small smile and nodded.</p><p>“What an <em>odd</em> coincidence!” he exclaimed. “And what of Natasha? Was she with him... at the end? I have not received word of the Rostovs since - well, since my capture.” She could hear the tremor in his voice, a childlike meekness that crept in when he did not want to hear the answer.</p><p>“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” asked the princess. Natasha could hear the smile in her voice. Silence hung in the air for a suffocating beat.</p><p>“I-I beg your pardon?” asked her dear bear. “The Rostovs are residing with me. Tragically, the father passed away some weeks ago and the younger son, Petya, was killed in battle.” They let the silence breath another moment and Pierre crossed himself.</p><p>“God rest their souls. I am so sorry to hear it. So much to happen in so short a time! I should have been here! Oh, why wasn’t I here? Natasha is here? She is well?” The questions came in such quick succession that Marya did not have the time to remind him that he could not have been here as he had been a French prisoner for the past four months.</p><p>“She is indeed,” she said instead, smiling at her old friend and glancing in Natasha’s direction.</p><p>Natasha remained on the chaise like a child playing hide and seek in plain sight.</p><p>“My dear Pierre, don’t you see who’s here?” asked Marya, no longer containing her smile. When she smiled her visage became transformed and resplendent. No one who gazed upon her countenance at this moment could call her plain. She was the most radiant woman in Moscow.</p><p>Natasha finally found her feet and stepped into the light, a smile to rival the princess’s illuminating her face.</p><p>“N-Natasha?” Pierre just stared, unmoving, as though he stood in a cathedral or a museum regarding something divine and untouchable.</p><p>“Hello, Pierre. Have I changed so very much?” she asked, half-fearing the answer. For the first time she recognized the difference in her voice. It was not the childish, bell-bright timbre he had last heard. It was deeper, heavier, but just as lovely to his ears.</p><p>“No,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “No. No, I didn’t see you. I didn’t expect to see you. I- I never thought I’d....”</p><p>At first glance, Pierre seemed unchanged. But in the light she could see the haunted look in his wide eyes. He was thinner, though still heavier than the fashionable man, and he held himself to his full height, no longer hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller. Yet his body was alert, as though ready to flee at a moment’s notice. It occurred to her that she was the only one who saw this, who saw him. That he had not seen or been seen in a long time, perhaps ever. Until this moment.</p><p>“I’m very happy to see you, Pierre,” said Natasha, fighting to keep her voice steady, slowly approaching him as though he were a wounded animal who would start at the slightest provocation.</p><p>Then, ignoring propriety and the present company, she sprang forward like a girl of thirteen, like the girl who had giddily danced with the big man from abroad on her Name Day a lifetime ago. Her arms wrapped around his firm frame, soaking in his warmth as though she could meld their bodies together. He looked down at her with those same wide eyes she had last seen before the war. Before their long slumber.</p><p>"Natasha, it is so <em>good</em> to see you! I... I trust you are in good health? Wait? I’m sorry, how could I ask such a thing? I am so, so sorry about your father and Petya and Andrei! How you’ve suffered, my dear!” He abruptly pulled her back into his embrace, crushing her to him with a strength he was not quite aware of, but that she could only take comfort in.</p><p>“I was shocked to hear of the Countess’s sudden death,” Natasha replied in earnest. Though she knew there was no love lost between Pierre and his deceased wife, he was a kind-hearted man and was surely suffering for her sins.</p><p>“Yes. Yes, it was a terrible thing.” It was clear from his expression that her death had affected him, although they had not truly lived as man and wife in years.</p><p>“She wrote to me asking to see me, but I never received her letters. Not until after…. We weren't on <em>good</em> terms, but no one should die like that, especially not alone, without friends, without consolation. I feel so sorry for her! I saw her father, Prince Vasili, the other day. Half-mad with grief he was. To lose two children within the same year in so violent and senseless a way! Despite the family’s wrongs, I could not help but feel such agonizing pity for him.” They were silent for a moment, glancing at their feet.</p><p>Natasha grimaced at the thought of <em>la belle Hélène</em>, bloodied and mangled, her lovely features rendered lifeless and vacant.</p><p>“I suppose this means you are a bachelor and eligible again?” chimed Marya. The sudden shift in mood caused him to start.</p><p>“Yes, yes I suppose so.” His smile was strained and he quickly lowered his eyes, but Marya noticed how his gaze flickered to Natasha quick as a candle’s flame.</p><p>“Will you dine with us, Count?” asked Marya.</p><p>Pierre, shaken from his reverie, nodded in agreement. Making their way to the dining room, he offered Natasha his arm. The feel of his strong grip took her back to her Name Day all those years ago when he had led her into the ballroom and danced with her, and then to another, grander ballroom where he had looked on as she danced with his dearest friend. When she looked up at his face, it was evident that he had been picturing the very same scenes.</p><p>Once they arrived in the dining room, he drew back her chair and allowed her to sit before taking the seat opposite her. As it was only them, the dinner was a quiet affair. So much regret and lost time hung between them.</p><p>Pierre’s recounting of his captivity and the Battle of Borodino was brief. He had seen Andrei, and they had parted on good terms, but Andrei had been consumed by a cold disregard and rage. He had no longer understood why he fought in the war, only that he must. He recounted seeing men die, though he spared both women the unsavory details. A tear trickled down his cheek as he described standing before a firing squad and seeing the life blasted out of a fifteen year old boy. Natasha thought inevitably of Petya and soon tears to match Pierre’s began to flow.</p><p>“I didn’t know,” she whispered, so low she could barely be heard above the crackling fire. “I had no idea what you suffered. What you all suffered.”</p><p>“Forgive me, my dear, for what I’m about to say, but I must ease your mind, and my own,” Pierre began tentatively. “Despite all the bad, the suffering and senseless violence, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” Before she could respond, he launched into the tale of a humble peasant man who had touched his soul to the core. “He was such an extraordinary little man! He was just a peasant, not a scholar or a holy man, but he seemed to have grasped the secret of how to live. I tell you, I have been to university and traveled throughout Europe. I have heard from the great minds of our times and I have dedicated countless hours to searching the words of poets and saints and prophets. Yet none of them could tell me how to really live. But this man, this inconsequential man, never worried or despaired or despised. He took pleasure in the good things and endured the bad things cheerfully. And his little dog! How he loved her! ‘She knows how to ask for love,’ he’d say, ‘and she knows how to give it. What else can you ask for?’ And he was <em>right</em>.”</p><p>Some time during his monologue, his gaze had found Natasha’s and refused to relent. She sat transfixed listening to his story. She could see in his face that he was transported back to that time, and yet he smiled! For this downtrodden man who understood the gift of life better than any poet or scholar. And in that moment, she was there with him experiencing his joys, his sorrows, his suffering and his ecstasy.</p><p>“So now I’m trying to live like him,” Pierre concluded, suddenly self conscious once more. “Is that ridiculous?” His tone betrayed his lingering vulnerability, but still he spoke with such fervor.</p><p>“No!” interjected Natasha gently. “No, it’s not ridiculous at all. Tell us more about him. Tell us <em>all</em> about him.” He held her gaze so intensely she felt certain he had fallen into a trance. But just as suddenly as he’d fallen under her spell, he was awakened by a soft stirring from the cloister mouse in the corner.</p><p>With a jolt, Pierre said, “Perhaps another time. I’m feeling rather tired. But I would like that, Natasha. Very much.”</p><p>“I look forward to it,” she responded, masking her disappointment.</p><p>Their held gaze finally severed as they gave each other a parting embrace, this time far more proper than their reunion. He bent down as though he meant to kiss her cheek, but suddenly thought better of it and reached for her delicate hand. She savored the fleeting sensation of his lips on her skin before he released her and parted with a bow.</p><p>The two women watched him go in his fine carriage, disappearing into the fading spring snow that promised blossoms and new beginnings in its soft descent.</p><p>“Strange,” reflected Marya as they retreated indoors and took their seats in the drawing room once more. “He seems unchanged, yet I can see there is something different about him. He’s all shiny and new.”</p><p>“Yes,” Natasha agreed. “The same Pierre we both know so well, warm and lovable, but now he’s so...serene. Even though he has seen war and tragedy and death.”</p><p>“We all have,” reminded the older woman gently.</p><p>“I know. God knows I do. Yet he’s always been so...<em>innocent</em> in a way. I can tell that there is more to his story. For all the enlightenment he experienced, he has also suffered terribly! It’s as though that childlike gleam has been snuffed out, replaced with someone wiser but just as sad. Perhaps it is true that a man cannot return from war. He must surrender himself in some way or other.”</p><p>“He seemed quite undisturbed to me,” stated Marya simply. “He is still the same kind, generous, beguiled man he has always been. Yes, a little sad perhaps, but you saw how his eyes lit when he spoke of that peasant and his dog! Why, our Pierre seems to have encountered something most of us can only pray that God will reveal to us. Something spiritual and transcendent that -“</p><p>“He didn’t recognize me!” Natasha blurted out, not allowing the princess to interject. The lead weight that had been suffocating her all evening finally relented. “He has always seen me. I can’t explain it, but he has <em>always</em> looked at me first, no matter who else was in the room. It’s as though he can sense my presence. And yet he just...looked right through me. As though I were glass. A candle in the mirror, stretching back and back, too distant and unknowable to decipher.”</p><p>Marya looked at her sympathetically as the tears Natasha had repressed since Pierre walked in the door began to trickle down her cheeks. “He loves you you know,” she stated matter-of-factly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I suspect he has for a very long time.” “</p><p>I know,” confessed Natasha. “He as good as told me during my, er, illness.”</p><p>“He declared his love?” asked Marya, shocked. “Not directly,” she began hesitantly. “I was at the abyss of despair and he pulled me from the ledge. I believed my life was over, that it would be better if I simply...ceased to exist. He told me that if he were not married and a better man that he wouldn’t hesitate to ask for my hand.” As she recounted this declaration, her face grew increasingly hot and flushed. She had never told anyone about the proposal, not even Sonya. Even now she did not divulge the full passion of this episode. It seemed far too intimate, more so even than the kisses and passionate words she had exchanged with other men. She recalled how she had touched his face, how he had leaned his forehead against hers and their tears had mingled, the ghost of an unshared kiss, the devotion in his eyes. These moments were hers, theirs, and she wished to keep them secret. Not because she was ashamed, quite the contrary, but because she enjoyed having something precious to herself, like a sparky trinket she could retrieve from a box and admire when no one was looking.</p><p>“But how did you know of his affection for me?” she asked Marya.</p><p>“Other than the way he looked at you all night?” Marya laughed incredulously. “He didn’t see you at first because he had convinced himself he would never see you again. I believe the idea of seeing you was the only thing that helped him keep his faith during those long months. But when he did see you again, he indeed saw you. It reminded me of the way Nikolai looked when he first beheld me. As though you were the moon and her stars combined.”</p><p>She allowed this statement to dwell before continuing, “You know, when you were engaged to my brother, I asked Pierre if you were worth all that trouble. He told me yes, to him you would be worth anything and everything. At the time, I thought it a rather impassioned declaration for a married man to make of his best friend’s fiancé. He always did carry his heart outside his chest, didn’t he?”</p><p>“Yes, yes I suppose he does,” chuckled Natasha, still scarlet from the strain of tears and sensibility.</p><p>“Do you love Monsieur Pierre in return?” asked Marya. Her tone betrayed no signs of judgment, nor excitement, nor discouragement. Simply a calm reassurance that whatever her answer was would be correct.</p><p>“I - I don’t know!” Natasha replied hesitantly. “I mean, what do I know of love? All my love affairs have only ended in heartache and death! To tell the truth I cannot even say in good faith that I have ever loved anyone. My heart is a fickle, treacherous thing!” She let out a choked sob as the bottled memories of her ghosts broke free.</p><p>“Boris was a childhood fancy of course, not real love. And now he is married to that horrid Julie Kuragina! And Denisov -poor Denisov! What he did for Petya! The dear man! How he suffered - and I only increased his suffering! And Anatole of course,” she flushed ever more with shame and a revolting thrill at the memory. “And your brother…”</p><p>Marya’s unflinching countenance grew pained and she crossed herself, as did Natasha.</p><p>“Oh how I wronged him!" she wailed. "Even after everything, even with his forgiveness, I struggle to forgive myself. Sometimes I think of what might have been and yet...It would not have worked out between us. We were as different as the sun and the moon, us two. The moon cannot exist with the sun, they meet in the sky for but a glorious moment and then one must part. Yes, yes I loved him! As the moon loves the sun. Fleeting yet enduring, bright and then...gone.” She allowed herself to weep. For Andrei. For Pierre. For Papa, and Petya, and Denisov, and Sonya and even Anatole and Hélène. But mostly she wept for herself. For a life unlived and her unknowable, wild heart that beat like a war drum in her breast.</p><p>“Yet I know I care for Pierre deeply. He is one of my dearest friends, perhaps the dearest. Oh, please do not take offense, dear Marya, but he was there in my time of need. He held me, he comforted me, he made me feel as though I was worthy of love when I myself believed I was unworthy of anything at all. If he had not been there then… I would not be here now.” Here she trailed off, allowing her sinful confession to linger. Still Marya looked on with that tranquil, unjudging expression, her tears silently flowing.</p><p>“When I was with Anatole,” Natasha began, stumbling over his wretched name. “I was not myself. I likened myself to a slave eager to serve her master. I said that I wanted to ruin myself and I meant it! Was eager for it! No, that was not love, how could it be? It was something dark and wicked that lives inside me no matter what I do to quell it! And still I cared for him! I know that now. And Andrei….”</p><p>Marya hushed her, nodding in understanding and choking back her own silent tears.</p><p>“But when I’m with Pierre I feel...wholly myself. There are no secret parts of myself to keep hidden, no compromises to be made. I am seen and I see. And I simply...am.”</p><p>“And you say you do not know what love is?” Marya asked incredulously, shaking her head and laughing in disbelief at her friend’s impassioned declaration.</p><p>“Is that how you feel with Nikolai?” asked Natasha, ashamed of her outburst and eager to redirect the attention.</p><p>“Yes,” Marya replied simply. “I feel like I have been searching a long time, all my life, and I am found at last!”</p><p>Hearing her speak so broke Natasha’s heart in two. One half sang with happiness for her brother and this remarkable woman he would make his wife. The other half remained devoted to Sonya, who had dedicated her life to loving Nicky. She said a silent prayer that Sonya might find the happiness she deserved elsewhere and promised herself to go see her soon.</p><p>“I, too, almost fell under Anatole Kuragin’s spell,” confessed Marya in a hushed tone. “He came to the house some seven years ago with the intention of proposing to me. I wanted so much to get away from my father, to have a household of my own, to have a husband and children! To be...loved by a man, in every way.” Her blush revealed her transgression, a sensation Natasha knew only too well. “But I saw that he was a deceitful, wicked man and rejected him. I told my father I would never leave him and that I would never marry. And now father is dead, and I have found happiness after all!”</p><p>“And you deserve it! You both do! And you shall have it,” Natasha declared, and she meant every word.</p><p>“As do you, Natasha. It seems to me God has given you both a second chance. You are still young my dear, much younger than I, and you should marry! But not unless you absolutely want to. Do not marry for wealth, or stability or escape. Those things you shall have so long as it is within my power, for we are sisters now. Marry because you cannot imagine any other life for yourself. Because, as you say, you wish to see and be seen.”</p><p>Natasha smiled through her lingering tears. “Do you know, Marya, I sometimes think that if we do not speak of Andrei we will forget him.”</p><p>“Is it possible to forget?” asked Marya sincerely, for the same horrid thought had often occurred to her in the long months since her brother’s death as his voice grew ever more distant. “It is good to talk about him, as we have. Difficult and painful, yes, but good for the soul. Yet I suppose in a way I feel I am betraying him again if I allow myself to love another. My heart has so much love to give that I give it freely, often without hesitation. It has only gotten me in trouble before, how am I to trust it again?”</p><p>Marya considered her response for a moment. “Andrei would not want you to squander that joyful spirit of yours. Either of you. It is, as you say, your heart has so much love to give. This, too, is a blessing. Like all blessings, it must be used wisely, but if it is God’s will, it will lead you to happiness. It is as Pierre learned from that peasant man. As long as there is life, there is happiness.”</p><p>“Yes...they’re quite different aren’t they? Pierre and Andrei?” mused Natasha.</p><p>“Quite,” agreed Marya. “I suspect that’s why they got on so well.”</p><p>Exchanging a last smile with the woman she had once sworn to despise, Natasha kissed Marya’s crimson cheek tenderly and bid her <em>bonne nuit</em> before retreating to her quarters.</p><p>As she stumbled through the hallway, the clouds parted to reveal the moon’s laughing face illuminating her way. For a moment she simply looked up, and then, for the first time in many months, she began to hum.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Candle in the Mirror</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pierre burst through the oak doors, disturbing Marya Bolkonskaya’s afternoon prayers.</p>
<p>“Pierre!” exclaimed the startled princess. “We did not expect you so soon! Of course it is good to see you again but -“</p>
<p>“I’m sorry princess, but I had to come,” interrupted Pierre, breathless and rogue-faced. “I suspect you know my reasons for coming?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I think I can guess.” The princess’s mouth turned up and her eyes sparkled in understanding. Pierre had dined with them every night the week prior, but had been silent for the past three days. Now he was here in the middle of the afternoon with no announcement, pacing frantically.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry to ask this of you but… help me.” Pierre’s already large eyes looked positively fit to burst, as they always did when he was feeling particularly anxious. “What am I to do? Is it too soon? Will she have me? Dear princess, do I dare hope?”</p>
<p>“I am in no position to answer these questions,” stated Marya calmly. “You must ask the woman you mean to make a proposal to.”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes you’re quite right. It’s just...I’ve loved her so long. I can’t say when I first began to love her. It seems I always have. All my life. And my love is such that I cannot imagine life without her.” In that moment, the innocence she remembered shone from his wide eyes, and he was but a boy again.</p>
<p>“Perhaps it is selfish to tell her now. She is still in mourning. But the thought...the thought that she might say yes and that I may let the opportunity may pass me by is too awful to bear any longer.”</p>
<p>With that characteristically serene countenance, the Princess Marya put her hand on her old friend’s shoulder. “I’ll go fetch her then.”</p>
<p>Pierre bowed deeper than was necessary in gratitude, and once the princess stepped out he began to pace the room in long strides.</p>
<p>Natasha sat in the drawing room with Sonya, embroidering as they had hundreds of afternoons before. Sonya had arrived with the Rostovs three days prior, and Natasha had eagerly enlightened her of recent events.</p>
<p>She had not confided in her cousin about her exchange with Marya the week prior, however. The other woman was a source of tension between them. When the princess wasn’t there, they could pretend as though things were just as they had been before the war, before Dolokhov and Anatole and debt and scandal and death.</p>
<p>However, she had told her of Pierre’s repeated visits. He had dined with them every night for a week, and his visits had ceased as suddenly as they had begun. It had been three days now, and they had not received word from him. She suspected he had gone to Petersberg to attend to urgent business, but to leave without so much as a letter bidding her goodbye! She voiced her thoughts to her dear cousin.</p>
<p>“I expect he’ll be paying you another visit before the week is out,” said Sonya without taking her eyes off her needlepoint. Sonya had always been the perceptive one, with a quiet wisdom that exceeded her twenty-two years. Natasha often envied her cleverness, but she appreciated it just the same.</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” agreed Natasha. She could not deny the way her heart danced at the thought.</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” echoed Sonya. “And perhaps he’ll finally pose the question that will end both your sufferings.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” asked Natasha innocently.</p>
<p>Finally glancing up, Sonya gave Natasha a pointed look.</p>
<p>“You know what he’s going to ask, and you already know what you’ll say. You’ve always known.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure I don't understand you,” Natasha began.</p>
<p>“Do you remember your Name Day? When you danced and flirted with him? Oh don’t deny it, everyone saw. I knew it then. I also knew it would be him somehow. Even after he married Hélène instead of waiting for you like an idiot.”</p>
<p>“Don’t call him that!” Natasha scolded, but she laughed at her friend’s characteristic bluntness. “I was still a child, and he was little more than a boy himself! Besides, it’s not his fault he married Hélène. I’m certain it was Vasili Kuragin’s meddling. Now that I know what their family is capable of, I shudder to think of his mistreatment. And then to spend four months in the dead of winter as a prisoner! Oh Sonya, I fear he is more changed than he realizes, and yet the way he speaks of life now! As though there is something precious to be found in the ordinary! Yet he’s so sad, he’s always been so sad. I don’t think I can bear to cause him more pain. And I never entertained the possibility that it could ever come to this, that he might actually… Oh Sonya, what should I do?”</p>
<p>Some time during her speech, Sonya had abandoned her handkerchief and held her friend’s gaze with a lazy, knowing smile.</p>
<p>“You know what you’re going to do. You’re not betraying anyone except yourself if you don’t.”</p>
<p>At that, a servant knocked at the door.</p>
<p>“Enter,” said Natasha, somewhat puzzled that anyone would call at such an hour, and her heart leapt at the knowledge that it could only be one person.</p>
<p>“Countess Rostova, Count Bezukhov is here to see you,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne.</p>
<p>Natasha looked to Sonya, her calm assurance still ringing in her ears. Sonya smiled like the little kitten who got the cream, the way she had as a carefree girl.</p>
<p>Without another word, her cousin withdrew from the drawing room with one last reassuring glance. Natasha stood and smoothed her muslin gown, clasping her bare hands before her.</p>
<p>Pierre entered, his imposing frame nearly too tall to fit through the doorway, and stopped. The servant closed the door behind him, leaving no one between them. The count regarded her for a brief eternity with a certain tender reverence that she was sure she would never tire of.</p>
<p>At last, he stepped forward and cleared his throat.</p>
<p>“Dearest Natahsa, surely you know why I’ve come here. Please, let me say my peace,” he held up a tentative hand, his eyes imploring her to let him continue. “ After I have said what I came here to say, depending on your reply, I will either leave you be forever or I will never leave you again. Whatever you wish of me, I will do.”</p>
<p>“I once told you if I were not married and a better man, a man worthy of you, I would get down on my knees and ask for your hand… and your love.” His voice broke on the last word as his bravado momentarily abandoned him and he imploringly looked to the rug for answers. She allowed him to gather his courage, and she hoped the look she gave was encouraging. She tried to keep her expression calm, but her heart continued to dance and her hands had begun to tremble in anticipation.</p>
<p>“Well, I am a widower now, so I am permitted by God and man to do just that. But I still don’t pretend to be a man worthy of you. I know I’ve been a clown and wasted my life. No, don’t deny it. It’s the truth. But I do believe I am changed, a better man than I was when I made that declaration a year ago. I love you, Natasha. More than I believed it was possible to love anyone, more than I have the right to. And if you’ll allow me….”</p>
<p>At this he paused his speech to step forward again and take her delicate hand in his larger, stronger one. He stared enraptured at their entwined fingers and met her gaze.</p>
<p>“I cannot make myself less of a bumble anymore than I can make myself handsome for you, though God knows I wish I could. I cannot be brave or gallant or fashionable. I am not a soldier or a revolutionary or even a particularly good man. But, if you will have me, I will spend every day that remains to me striving to be a man worthy of you. So I ask you, dearest Natasha - do you think you could love me?”</p>
<p>His childlike eyes shone down at her in earnest, imploring and adoring. His last question was shy and tentative, as though he had resigned himself to rejection but would combust if he did not declare these words. Natasha could barely hold back the tears that threatened to spill forth. Instead, she placed her free hand on his smooth cheek and smiled up at him.</p>
<p>“Yes, I could.”</p>
<p>His entire face lit up, his eyebrows, usually downturned in a quizzical expression, raised a fraction and he inhaled as if to speak.</p>
<p>“Yes! Yes I do! I do love you! Dearest Pierre….” And she allowed the tears to flow even as she smiled with a radiance she had not thought she was still capable of.</p>
<p>But Pierre’s smile, seldom seen, so sincere and unguarded, transformed his entire face. At that moment, one might have even called him handsome. And he was to her, more so than ever.</p>
<p>He kissed her hand as he had so many times before, reverent and tender. Then he pulled her into his strong embrace and simply held her. She could not say how long they lingered in that blissful moment. She was certain she could feel dampness on her temple and realized that it must be his tears. When he pulled back he gazed at her as though he could not believe she was here, that she was his. He raised a hand and delicately stroked her cheek, wiping away her tears and tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. His eyes fell on her slightly parted lips and his thumb followed, tracing the delicate skin and making her shiver.</p>
<p>“May I?” he asked, his voice low and wavering, his gaze flickering between her eyes and mouth.</p>
<p>Natasha did not bother to respond with words. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. His initial shock was soon replaced by fervor as he buried one large hand in her dark curls and the other gently but firmly seized her waist. She tasted their mingling tears and their teeth clicked together due to the smiles that now seemed permanently painted on their faces. But what they lacked in skill, they compensated for with enthusiasm. He kissed her harder, deeper, crushing her to him as though afraid she would vanish if he relinquished his hold.</p>
<p>At last they came up for air, breathless and dizzy and giggling like school children who had done something very naughty. He rested his forehead against hers, as he had during his first proposal. Only this time, it was pure, undiluted joy rather than strained sorrow that mingled their tears. Natasha savored the feeling of flushed skin and strong hands, silently praying she could preserve this moment for eternity.</p>
<p>“Shall we tell the others?” asked her husband-to-be with an uncharacteristically mischievous grin, leaning his forehead against hers and whispering so that no one else could hope to hear.</p>
<p>“Yes, I believe we should,” she agreed.</p>
<p>Again, he kissed her hand fervently before finding her lips once more.</p>
<p>After a fleeting eternity, they reluctantly broke apart and made for the door. Natasha took his arm and followed him as she had so long ago when she’d danced with him on her Name Day. Just as she had then, she beamed up at him and took the lead, guiding him to the parlor with languid steps. They were in no hurry. Pierre had vowed to live a meaningful life, to savor each sensation, just as the old peasant had taught him to delight in the simple joy of sprinkling salt on a potato. As he looked down at the woman on his arm, he knew he would dedicate every remaining moment of the life given to him cherishing her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! I hope this made you smile in these dark times.</p><p>You can find me on Tumblr at littlelattewanders!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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